He was almost on top of the second flatbed truck, so he pulled into the other lane to make sure the driver saw him. That’s when he spotted the horse and rider. He didn’t recognize the rider, but when he saw the red hair with the yellow and blue tips, he took his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes, wary of getting any closer.

One moment Grimshaw saw the horse and rider. Then next moment, he saw the tight funnel of a fire tornado heading right for the flatbed trucks at a horrific speed. He put the cruiser in reverse and stomped on the gas, praying to Mikhos that he could get far enough away before the tornado hit.

The concussion of tornado hitting flatbed trucks and the heavy equipment they carried, followed by the explosion of the gas tanks a moment later, lifted the cruiser off the pavement. Grimshaw held on to the steering wheel, as if he had some control while airborne.

The cruiser’s tires hit the pavement, and Grimshaw breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t felt any worse than going over a speed bump too fast. Before he could think to apply the brakes, the cruiser rolled to a stop.

He stared out the window. The trucks were burning. The trees were burning. And the fire tornado had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

Grabbing the mic, he called Osgood. “Call out the volunteer fire department. I need firefighters, EMTs, doctors. We’ve got a mess here.” He hesitated. “I need you too, Osgood. And Julian Farrow. And call the Bristol Police Station for backup. We need CIU, firefighters, cops— we need everything they can send. You escort Ms. DeVine to Ilya Sanguinati’s office, then you hightail it out here.”

“Yes, sir.” A pale sound, but Osgood would be there.

He pulled the cruiser onto the shoulder of the road and ran toward the burning vehicles, but the fire burned too hot for him to get close enough to determine if anyone had survived. He hoped not.

“Anyone out there?” he shouted. The crews in the flatbed trucks were gone, but the men who had been felling trees might have seen the funnel in time to run.

Sirens. A lot of sirens. Too soon for any help from Bristol, but they would be coming. Captain Hargreaves would see to that.

The volunteer firefighters arrived first with the fire truck and a water tanker, followed by the EMTs and Dr. Wallace. Officer Osgood and Julian Farrow brought up the rear. Osgood stumbled out of the passenger side of Julian’s car and stared at the fire, making Grimshaw wonder if a potentially good cop had seen too much too young.

Then Osgood shook his head as if to clear it and ran to where Grimshaw waited.

“Take the cruiser and go down the road,” Grimshaw said. “Block it off. I’ll have Julian block off the road at this end.”

“Yes, sir.” Osgood stared at the fire. “The Others are angry.”

Grimshaw nodded. “But not with us. Get going.”

As soon as Osgood headed for the cruiser, Grimshaw turned to Julian Farrow.

Julian said, “This morning Vicki and I met Fire, who calls himself Aiden. He was riding a horse named Twister.”

“Gods,” Grimshaw breathed. “How’s Vicki?”

“How do you think? A fire was reported at The Jumble. No one could tell her if the buildings were burning or some other part of the property.”

“I need you to man the barricade at this end of the road. I need to find one of those bridle paths or any kind of trail that will get me around to the other side of the fire. There were men out there cutting down trees. I don’t know if they got away.”

“And you have to check on Dane and the rest of them.”

“Have to do my job.”

“Caw.”

Grimshaw turned toward the sound and spotted the Crow. He figured it had to be one of the Crowgard. All the ordinary birds would have fled from the fire.

“Aggie?”

“Caw.”

“I need to find a trail to the main house.”

The Crow flew off between a break in the trees. Grimshaw hurried to follow. If the fire cut him off from the road, he’d head for the lake.

“Keep reporting in,” Julian called.

The game trail opened onto a bridle path. Grimshaw jogged to keep up with Aggie until she landed in a tree and didn’t continue. Obviously she wasn’t going to lead him any farther.

He pointed at the path in front of him. “The main house is that way?”

“Caw.”

He took a step, then looked at the Crow. “If the wind doesn’t change direction, more of The Jumble will burn. Miss Vicki would be sad about that.”

No response, so he followed the path.

He didn’t know if Aggie had delivered the message that fast or if something else had been listening, but when he reached the access road a minute later, the wind had shifted, blowing the fire back over already scorched earth.

* * *

• • •

The moment Grimshaw’s foot crunched on the gravel, four armed men swung toward the sound.

“Hey!” he said, holding up his hands, palms out.

Swinn and Reynolds looked spooked enough that he felt lucky they hadn’t fired out of reflex. The other two men? Yeah. Private security for sure.

Grimshaw turned to Yorick Dane, who was clumped with his business partners. “Is everyone all right? All the people staying with you?”

Dane stared at the charred husks of trees, then raised a shaking hand. “Is that . . . Is that a body?”

He moved in that direction for a closer look. Gods, let those men be removed from all suffering. He counted four bodies before he walked back to where Dane stood.

“What happened?” Vaughn demanded.

“Fire tornado,” Grimshaw replied. “It hit the two flatbed trucks and the construction equipment you were bringing in, and then took out the crew felling trees.” He tried to chain the anger swelling inside him. “You were warned.”

Even Vaughn looked shocked. Most likely, they’d been getting away with underhanded deals since their university days, if not before. This should have been nothing different—except they weren’t dealing with humans anymore.

“We’ll have to leave,” Darren said. “That truck is blocking the way and has to be moved.”

He looked at the burned-out truck the loggers had driven and shook his head. “The firefighters are still bringing the fire around the flatbeds under control. You’ve got thousands of pounds—maybe a few tons— of burning, twisted metal blocking the access road.” He pointed to the burned truck. “Nobody will be moving that one for a while.”

The men stared at him.

“Then how are we getting out?” Dane asked.

“You’re not,” Grimshaw replied. “Well, you can pack a light carryall and walk out, following the bridle trails until you reach the road.”

“Hammorson?” Vaughn said, turning to the beefy blond man.

“We can take my boat and go to the public beach and get help there,” Hammorson said. “Or go across the lake to that big lodge I saw on the other side.”

“Does that boat have a motor?” When Hammorson nodded, Grimshaw turned to Dane. “Didn’t you tell your friends about the no-motor rule on this lake? Are you looking for ways to get these people killed?” He turned back to Hammorson. “Even if you take out a rowboat, you do not want to go across to Silence Lodge. Not today.”

Hammorson narrowed his eyes. “Why? Who owns Silence Lodge?”

“The Sanguinati.”

Uneasy now, all the men shifted their feet.

“Look,” Grimshaw said. “The main house and the lakeside cabins are probably the safest place right now. Your cars aren’t going anywhere until the road is cleared and that could take a couple of days.” Or more. The flatbeds had been burning when he’d run to check on the people here, but his impression had been of metal twisted and melted into nightmarish shapes. Not the kind of thing you could roll out of the way.

“Vicki should have widened the access road and built a second entrance,” Dane said. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if she’d put enough money into this place.”

Grimshaw stared at Yorick Dane. Was the man actually pouting because the ex-wife he was screwing on a business deal hadn’t gone into debt to do more improvements?